


Intrestingly Neat

by 0Alexias0



Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: 5+1 Things, Angst, Blob Cecil Palmer, Carlos is a Good Boyfriend, Cecil Has A Third Eye, Cecil Has Tentacles, Cecil Is a Good Boyfriend, Dorks in Love, Eldritch Abomination Cecil, Feelings, Fluff, Includes weather, M/M, Moving Tattoo(s), Self-Conscious Cecil, Typical Night Vale Weirdness, kinda???
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-22
Updated: 2018-06-22
Packaged: 2019-05-26 21:53:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,850
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15010223
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/0Alexias0/pseuds/0Alexias0
Summary: There's always something about Cecil that surprises Carlos.This is their relationship through out the years.





	Intrestingly Neat

**Author's Note:**

> Let's play a game of how many Cecil head canons I can fit into one fanfic.

 

 

**1**

Both of them still remember their very first meeting as clear as a day in Night Vale can be. The town’s Green Market Co-Op. A week after Carlos arrived. Cereal aisle.

“…You have purple eyes,” was apparently the first thing that came out of Carlos’ mouth. His shopping cart faced Cecil’s, and both of them were in a sort of stare off. Neither was breaking eye contact.

“I- uh-” Cecil’s purple eyes blinked. He was not prepared to come face to face with the man who managed to give him the biggest crush in the span of seven days. His brain started to yell at him (not literally) to make a good first impression.

Go on, it said. Say something cool. This is your chance.

“I- uh, y-you too. Have eyes, that is. Brown. They’re brown. You have brown eyes.”

 _Wow_. Cecil could feel his brain physically face palming.

Great start, Palmer.

“Oh, um,” replied the scientist, Carlos. He rubbed the back of his neck. “No one’s ever commented about my eyes. Er, thanks, I guess.”

“Why- why wouldn’t they?” Cecil continued. “Brown eyes are marvels of nature. They are the color of warmth, like the aging oak trees of a forest and as sweet as rich dark chocolate.  And under rays of sunlight they turn into colors of gold and honey. Brown eyes are treasures worth…keeping…”

He trailed off when he saw Carlos staring at him. Intently, by the looks of it. His radio persona had slipped out, and words came pouring out his mouth.  Did he say something wrong?

He felt heat rise in his cheeks. Is he blushing? He sincerely hopes he isn’t blushing.

Suddenly Carlos’ face twisted into surprise. “Your- your eyes! They just changed color!”

“Oh?” Cecil pushed his glasses up, trying to hold onto the last strands of his pride. “What color are they now?”

_Please not pink. Please not pink._

“They’re pink.”

“Oh. Uh. Um.” His face felt hotter and hotter.

“Now they’re red! Bright red.”

 Cecil was just about to die from embarrassment when Carlos’ tone softened. “Are they...always like that? Changing colors?”

“Y-Yeah. A quirk. Of mine. I guess.”

Carlos gazed into him, deeply watching his eyes.

“Fascinating,” he said.

“O-Oh?”

Carlos smiled ( _oh my gosshhh_ ) and offered his hand. “You’re Cecil Palmer right? The radio host. I’m Carlos the Scientist, nice to meet you.”

He knew that. “Pleasure’s all mine.” They shook hands.

“Well, I guess I’ll be going then.” Carlos pushed his cart forward, continuing on his way. “See you around, Cecil.”

“S-see you around, Carlos.” Cecil watched with a little wave as Carlos left, still stumped. He sighed. The lettuce in his cart hopped, trying to escape. He swiftly grabbed it and pushed it back down to the cart.

“Smooth Cecil,” he grumbled as he pushed his cart away as well. “Real smooth.”

 

 

“Why oh _why_ did I say that?” Carlos muttered exasperatedly to himself. His cart rolled lazily down the eyeballs and nails aisle. “ _You have purple eyes_?! Great start, Carlos. You’re the greatest person ever. Why did you even introduce yourself? It’s not like he doesn’t know you. Made yourself a complete goof to the _one_ guy that’s been talking about you on the radio.”

He sneaked a glance to his back, to where Cecil’s bright pink green mini skirt was now only a small dot in the distance, walking away. He bit his lips.

“I wonder if he knows I listen to his broadcast every day.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

Carlos has never thought that that man was the man he’d fall for, months after his arrival. In fact he didn’t think they’d go anywhere beyond colleagues and probably Tumblr friends.

But there was this itching. This uneasiness in him whenever he was around Cecil. At first he thought it was just Cecil’s eyes that changes color based on his emotions (although he never quite figured out what pink means). Or maybe the way Cecil’s teeth looks sharper than it should be under the sun or how his tattoos seem to be a little different each time Carlos sees him. Or maybe his voice? That deep…baritone voice…

Then a year later he nearly dies under a bowling alley of all things. And suddenly, it all came crashing down on him with one big revelation that;

_You’re in love with him you damn idiot._

So he called him.

Asked him to meet up at Arby’s. Where the night sky creeps just across the twilight, and mysterious lights dance. They sat at the trunk of his car.

“After all that’s happened…”

 _All of it_. From the first moment he met with those purple eyes, to finding out clocks aren’t real, to the Sandstorm, all the way to the feeling of death looming over him as he lay in a pool of blood in a tiny city. From the beginning until now. All the moments he’s shared with Cecil.

 “…I just wanted to see you.”

And they sat there, at the trunk of Carlos’ car. All the words they needed to say said in silence. Watching the setting sun and the glowing sky.

Mostly void. Partially stars.

And when Cecil placed his head on his shoulders, Carlos smelled hints of metal. Like how headphones and radio equipment would smell. But he also smelled books, old books. And faint scents of tasteful spices he’d find in his mother’s kitchen long ago.  

Cecil reminded him of so much yet being so strange and new altogether.

 

 

And that was only the beginning of it. The tip of the curious iceberg that is Cecil Palmer. From that night on, as the two became closer in their relationship and their bond strengthens, Carlos starts finding more and more neat quirks about his boyfriend.

 

 

* * *

  

 

**2**

 

It was in the middle of the night (or, pretty sure it’s night - it was dark) when Carlos woke up. He yawned and lifted his head up. Cecil’s chest was in front of him, slowly moving up and down rhythmically. He and Carlos had been having a make out session before falling asleep on Cecil's (their) bed piled on top of each other. Carlos had been sleeping peacefully with his head on top of his boyfriend’s chest. He groggily woke up and for a moment he wondered why it had been nothing at all that woke him, but then his eyes adjusted and he saw something. Glowing, under the sheets.

He quickly lifted the sheet away because, really, if this is another one of those space slug infestations-

But no. It was Cecil. His tattoos radiated with a cool purple glow, and when Carlos took a closer look it shone and gave his cheeks a violet blush. But that’s not all. His tattoos were also moving. Tentacles twirling and twisting. Star constellations blinking. Eyes – numerous eyes – watching and observing. Mysterious creatures and plants and languages that Carlos has never seen before. All of them moving and alive on Cecil's skin. It reminded Carlos a tiny aurora borealis, except it’s in the form of runes right on his lover’s arms.

A rustle from behind him and a twitch of the hands indicated Cecil waking up. The bed dipped as he sat up.

“Carlos?” he asked in the same half asleep voice anyone else would have if they were woken up in the middle of the night.

“Cecil, your...”

This got the radio host's attention, and he rubbed at his eyes. He too glanced to his own arm. The tattoos, Carlos noted, started to move faster.

“Oh.” He lifted his arms, showcasing them and shining the light upon both of them.

“They're dancing.” Carlos’ mouth opened as he stared in awe. “How are they doing that?”

Cecil chuckled. “Long story.”

He took Carlos’ hand in his. A tattoo that seemed to be a two headed eight eyed wolf approached where their palms intertwined. The wolf then licked the edges of Carlos' thumb, and it felt strangely tingly yet pleasant. Carlos giggled.

“Do you…like them?” Cecil asked.

“Like them?” Carlos said. “Cecil, this- this is a phenomenon!”

Cecil blushed at his boyfriend calling him a phenomenon, and the tattoos moved faster and shone brighter as emphasis.

Carlos smiled and brought the hand near to his mouth, and gently kissed the smooth skin along with the moving tattoos. The action brought a strange yet welcomed sensation to his lips.

“They're lovely,” he whispered.

When he brought the hand away, the tattoos were moving rapidly and excitingly, like a group of ants when you blow at them. Beside him Cecil's face was practically all purple, and his other hand was covering it.

Carlos laughed and snuggled to him again. “You're such a cute dork.”

They both got into a comfy position, holding unto each other with Cecil's tattoos lazily going about.

“You’re not so bad yourself,” he whispered fondly.

“Tell me more about them,” Carlos said. “I’ll listen.”

His boyfriend cuddled closer, and Cecil went on to the story of his runes. His voice as deep as the night as he told Carlos a tale shadows and mirrors and tentacles. And Carlos listened as the mysterious lights passed over their heads.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Cecil’s eyes glow in the dark the same way his tattoos do. And with the array of colors it held, it was as ominous as it is beautiful.  

 

 

* * *

 

 

**3**

Cecil and Carlos don't fight often. In fact, it's very rare, but it does happen. All relationships have their rocky patches, after all. Although theirs never go any farther than a bunch of nagging and arguing.

“Fine!” Cecil huffed before turning on his heels and headed to his (their) room.

Carlos sighed in frustration and dropped down to the couch. Grabbing the remote from the depths of the couch, he turned on the television.

Three science documentaries, two vague yet menacing governmental sessions, and a static extra-terrestrial message later, Carlos decided he has cooled down enough for a calmer talk and walked towards Cecil's room.

He knocked softly on the door before opening it a little. “Hey.”

“Hey.”

“Can I come in?”

“…Yeah.”

Carlos slipped inside the room, the door clicking softly behind him. It was dark, and he could barely see anything past the light from the living room. Carlos could barely see the NVCR posters, water color paintings, and cult markings on the wall. The only available source of light was above his head; Cecil's glow-in-the-dark stickers glowed gently. Leave it to his boyfriend to get the magical animated glow stickers to stick on his ceiling. Slowly he moved forward.

Cecil himself was sitting on their bed, somewhat tucked to himself. The tattoos moved slowly with their lights dim. Carlos could bare make out his shape.

“Carlos, I'm sorry,” he started as Carlos moved to sit down next to him. “I shouldn't have exposed so much of our relationship on the radio. I crossed the border and invaded your privacy, I'm sorry.”

“No, no, it's okay,” Carlos said. “I was tired after working at the lab, and got really snappy. Y'know, I usually don't mind you talking about us on air. I like listening to it, even.”

The sheets shifted, indicating Cecil had moved. But Carlos could barely see him. “Tell you what; from now on, I won't reveal anything about our relationship on the radio unless you’re okay with it. Okay?”

Carlos smiled. “Sounds great, Ceec.”

Some seconds passed by with just them being wordless. Again Carlos found himself squinting trying to get a proper look at his boyfriend. Shouldn’t he be able to see his face properly? Why is it so dark? All he saw instead was the glow of the tattoo arms and two purple orbs – Cecil’s eyes – among the blackness.

“Cecil?”

The bed shifted again. “Carlos, there’s something I want to show you.”

Before Carlos could ask, in the darkness, a _third_ glowing orb blinked open, right above the other two. Carlos’ eyes widened. He scrambled off the bed and reach for the light switch.

Their room was flushed in bright light. Cecil was still at the bed, looking as normal as being Cecil Palmer would allow him. But what was different was that now he had a third eye.

Carlos approached him, fixated on the third eye. It was at the epicentre of his forehead, and the closer he looked, he noticed that it was slightly larger than the other two. The pupil was unlike any he’s seen before. There seemed to be more than one iris, however that’s possible, each with its own unique set of twirling colors. Carlos moved a finger in front of it, and the eye tracked its movement. “Whoa,” he breathed. The colors and slow twisting of the eye mesmerized him. Almost…hypnotizing. Carlos snapped himself out of it and shook his head.

Cecil’s deep nervous chuckle could be heard from under his chin. “Yeah, I wouldn’t advise looking at it for too long.”

Carlos returned to his spot next to Cecil, still fazed. “But- how-”

“It’s…I suppose you can say it’s a gift. Huntokar gave it to me through Station Management when I first became the Voice of Night Vale.”

“Can it see?” Curiosity began to fill him.

“Sort of. If I close my eyes and concentrate, I’m able to view any location of my choice within the town limits.”

It clicked in Carlos’ head. “So _that’s_ how you’re able to report real-time on the radio so well. All this time I thought the station was just on a really strategic high ground with a big window that overlooks most of the city.”

This triggered a genuine laughter from Cecil, and they both giggled. The third eye blinked with them. “I usually keep it hidden,” he continued. “But sometimes it would slip out. Or if I have strong waves of emotions. It would just…appear.”

Carlos nodded. “Although…why have you never told me about this?”

Cecil shrugged. “It’s kind of a personal thing to me. I’ve only ever shown it to a handful of people. Old Woman Josie, Abigail, Earl, and now, you.”

“Oh.”

Carlos examines the eye again. “It’s...fascinating. Is there a hole in the middle of your skull?  How does it make room for an extra eye socket? Based on its position, the eye should be connected straight to the frontal lobe of your brain and-”

All three of Cecil’s eyes blinked. Carlos paused then chuckled sheepishly. “Or, we can discuss it later.”

The scientist presumed to press himself close to Cecil. He placed his head on the crook of his neck. “But really. Thank you for telling me.”

A small smile graced Cecil’s lips. “I’m glad I did.”

They stayed like that. Cecil listened to Carlos’ calming breathing and Carlos feeling Cecil's comforting warmth. The white noise of the television the only music in the background as the third eye watched the two of them.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Some days Cecil is taller than him. Other days they’re the same height. Other _other_ days he’s shorter, and Carlos is taller.

Now those are days were Carlos gets to smile smugly and tell Cecil how cute he is when he’s short.

Unfortunately, Short Cecil days are especially rare.

But whatever. Point is, Cecil’s height changes every once in a while.

 

 

* * *

 

 

**4**

 

Carlos opened the door with a bag of fresh groceries. He huffed when he struggled to get a hand load of government approved dairy and vegetables through the narrow doorway.

“Cecil?” he called. No answer.

With a heavy thump, Carlos dumped the bag on the table. A tomato rolled out of it. It grew out bug legs and began to creep away. Carlos only rolled his eyes, knowing from experience that attempting to catch one would be futile.

“Cecil!” he tried again.

Carlos wondered over their living room to the kitchen. There were no sizzles of cooking pans nor the scent of dinner. The silence hung tight in the air, and Carlos already had a bad feeling bubbling up.

Too quite. Their house felt too eerily still. Whenever Cecil’s around, there was always noise following him. He brought his own ambience wherever he goes. Whistling, cooking sounds, page turning, scribbling chalk sigils on the wall, and even something as simple as his heels hitting the floor boards on a good day. It was the sounds of Cecil’s life that Carlos has gotten used to and loved. But it wasn’t there today.

Cecil’s radio show is finished. Shouldn’t he be home by now?

“Honey, where are you?” Now he’s worried. He checked their bedroom, his study, and Cecil’s office. He turned to the hallway, and to his horror found a trail of purple blood, leading to (or from?) the bathroom. Carlos’ heart began to pound and he threw open the door.

It was a mess. Bottles and soap from the shelves were scattered on the floor, one shampoo bottle’s cap was opened and leaked blue liquid everywhere. The bath curtain was nearly ripped off the pole. But what was most horrifying was the mirror, terribly cracked and most of its shard all around the sink and the floor. Purple blood. In the center of the cracks and splattered all around the bath room.

As if the mirror had been punched.

That very mirror was already installed to the wall when they moved in. The previous owner (bless that poor man’s soul) never got to remove it when he moved on to the afterlife. After Cecil embarrassingly admitted he had a problem with mirrors, they decided to just cover it with a layer of brown cloth. The brown cloth that was now lying by Carlos’ feet.

 _Oh no_. Carlos dove to the cupboard and pulled out a first aids kit. He ran out the bathroom, following the trail of blood. There was so much. The sharp mirror must’ve cut open a vein or two.

Carlos crossed the hallway. He turned a corner and saw the blood leading up to the attic, still fresh and dripping down the steps.

No. _No no no no_.

Cecil _never_ uses the attic. Carlos was the only one who occasionally goes up there to store a science project and whatnot. The only time Carlos has seen Cecil go up there was…It was when Strexcorp gave Cecil a cruel beating and he fled up the attic to isolate himself.

Carlos has never been so afraid going up those stairs. When he popped his head up, it was dark. The smell of damp wood and dust rushed to his nose. “Cecil?” his voice wavered, eyes straining to see in the dark. “Cecil!”

Creaking of the old boards from a corner of the attic grabbed his attention. Dimly lit, at the far side, was a curled form. Carlos lifted himself fully to the attic, using the lights from Cecil’s tattoos as guide.

When the scientist got to him, Cecil was shaking – muscles tight head tucked between his knees. Carlos’ eyes travelled down the inked arms. The tattoos were dim, but it moved erratically and Carlos has never seen it move so fast, like a night light that’s been spun on its needle like a top. And Cecil’s skin. It was a pale purple, and Carlos felt the cold radiating of it. Cecil’s hair was white as snow.

“Cecil?” he asked gently. When his hand landed on his shoulders, Cecil flinched, and Carlos saw his terrified face.

Cecil’s pupils were gone, so his eyes only showed milky white – they only do that when he’s scarred. And his third eye was wide open, frantically looking everywhere and anywhere as if it’s about to be dropped in a blender.

“C-Carlos?” Cecil said in the smallest voice.

Then he lunged at him, gripped his lab coat and cried into his flannel. Carlos hugged him back.

“It’s okay Cecil, I’m here.” He stroked his boyfriend’s white hair. “It’s okay. What happened?”

“I- I went home and- and went to the bathroom-” he choked. “The mirror- I saw-” He started to hyperventilate and shook violently.

“Cecil, hey, breathe with me.” Carlos reassuringly squeezed Cecil’s hand. “You’re having an anxiety attack. Deep breaths.”

He’s a scientist, not a doctor. But thankfully Carlos knows how to handle these types of situations because of…past experiences.

A minute or so later Carlos managed to help Cecil calm his breathing. The tattoos grew to a healthy glow now, and the runes has stopped moving around so frantically. The rest of him – the three eyes, hair, and skin – stayed the same.

“Cecil, are you okay?”

The radio host nodded. “Better. I…thank you Carlos.” His voice was muffled through Carlos’ thick flannel. Carlos was still brushing his hands through the white hair. He remembered the wound.

“Oh, your arm!” The two shuffled, Cecil pulling out his injured hand for Carlos to see. He winced. It was covered in little cuts and bruises, with tiny glass shards probably still lodged in there. One nasty cut sliced deep in the skin above his knuckles, and from it spewed out glowing purple blood, both dry and fresh.

Carlos quickly reached for the bandage in the aid kit and began wrapping Cecil’s hand. The latter looked miserable, aside from looking like a complete alien.

“I was just…I came home, wanting to prepare our dinner. Then I went to the bathroom and- and there was this gush of wind and the mirror…I saw my reflection and I- I didn’t know. I panicked.” He bit down his lips. “It was as if my body went out of control and I went berserk, I…I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault.” Carlos finished wrapping up the bandage. He firmly pressed it down – that should stop the bleeding for now. Although it does need proper medical attention. There’s still the various cuts and tiny shards. The bandage only did as much as stopping the blood flow. It needs disinfectant and probably a few stitches. But Carlos couldn’t do that – not him, not in this dark attic.

Scientist, not doctor.

“Cecil,” he told him, “we need to get you to a hospital.”

Cecil visibly frowned.

“Look, I know how much you hate hospitals-” Carlos does to, with their weird, shadowy, stretchy-limbed ‘ _doctors’_ “-but it’ll just get worse if we leave it.”

“Can't we do it in the bathroom?” Cecil reasoned.

Carlos shook his head. “Our bathroom is in shambles, Cecil.”

Cecil’s eyes casted down. “Right. Right, okay.”

Carlos helped his boyfriend get up. And together, they headed to the hospital.

 

 

Cecil got three stitches, and his whole hand was bandaged up entirely (the ‘ _doctors’_ were kind that day...unlike other days).

That night Cecil apologized profusely for it, in which Carlos always replied with a gentle kiss to the forehead and the injured hand.

He cleaned up the bathroom; disposing the sharp shards and mopping up the spilled shampoo. Multiple times did Cecil offer to help, claiming that it was technically his fault. Carlos waved him away and insisted him to get some rest.

Hours later, late at night, Carlos entered their bedroom. Cleaning up the bathroom took way more energy than he expected, and he dropped to their bed like a deadweight.

However that energy quickly got replenished when he felt Cecil’s warm arm instinctively curl on him, making Carlos the little spoon. He smiled, whispered a soft “get well soon” before the night lights of Cecil’s arms lulled him to sleep.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Love comes in all sorts of forms, Carlos told him one day. It just so happens that his and Cecil's came in the form of shape shifting tattoos and glowing eyes.

His beloved queer (and also queer) boyfriend.

 

 

* * *

 

 

**5**

Unbeknownst to Carlos, Cecil had one last large “secret”, if you would call it that. It was something Cecil actively tried to cover from Carlos, so it counts as a secret, right? It was something Cecil feared would be the tipping point for his boyfriend. So far Carlos has loved and supported all of Cecil's little features, from his purple blood to his third eye, and Cecil still wonders what he did to deserve such a kind and beautiful soul to be his partner. But what if there's a line called ‘acceptable boyfriend’ that Carlos had drawn, and this last piece of Cecil surpasses that?

“What would you think if I'm hiding something from you?” Cecil asked one day.

Carlos looked up from his note book and across Jerry's Tacos' table. “Hm?”

“If I’m- What if you find out that I’m...weird?” He fumbled with the hems of his poncho.

“Of course you're weird,” Carlos replied innocently. “And I love you like that.”

Cecil nearly melted. Beautiful, kind hearted Carlos.

“No, I mean- much, _much_ , weirder. Really weird. Weird that would- that would push you away?”

Carlos' lips pursed, and he took off his glasses. His brown curls swayed with the motion and draped over his brows. His hand landed on top of Cecil's on the warm table top.

“Cecil, you’ve never once given me a reason to push you away. If what you’re hiding is making you afraid of me, then we’ll work it out. Tell me when you’re ready.”

He gave Cecil a supportive smile with those military cemetery teeth before standing up to pay for their radiation greased tacos, leaving Cecil alone at the table.

“But what if it makes _you_ afraid of _me_?” he whispered to himself.

 

 

* * *

 

 

In the end, Cecil never got to tell Carlos. Or even plan it, in that case.

In fact, Carlos had found out on accident.

 

 

But first, [the weather](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Y4OLQB7ON9w).

 

 

* * *

 

 

Cecil was just dancing about the broadcast studio, like he usually does during the Weather. All thirteen of his tentacles flailed around, and his many (many) eyes opened and closed to the beat of the music.

It was nice to be in his eldritch form. Or his true form, rather. With an unclear fuzzy shape, he was only a pack of different sized eyes with glowing purple tentacles protruding from the rest of him.

Because while Carlos knew Cecil wasn’t human, he didn’t know to what extent of un-human-ness. Like eldritch abomination level of un-human.

The tentacles (four of them) that acted as his legs swiftly moved around the otherwise small space, and his other appendages moved fluidly to the melody of the mysterious weather of the day. He might have put the program too loud, however, because he failed to hear a certain someone knocking on the door.

“Cecil?” Knock knock. “I brought us coffee – crushed spider, your favorite.”

More knocks. “Honey? I’m coming in okay?”

There was a click, and Cecil noticed too late.

It was only when two cups of coffee dropped to the floor that the radio host turned around. His previously bright magenta color drained and turned pale purple. His tentacles spluttered to a stop and fifty eyes widened.

“C-Car-”

The scientist himself was frozen over a spreading pool of crushed spiders and latte. His brown eyes searched all over Cecil, then the studio, then back to Cecil. If Cecil had a beating heart, it had already stopped.

“Carlos- I- I can-”

“...Cecil?”

At this Cecil fell silent, and instead stared at his (probably no more) boyfriend. And Carlos is- oh gods he’s approaching him. Carlos’s steps were slow and cautious, but he was approaching.

“Cecil...Is that you?”

“Carlos-”

Cecil, in whatever way, had managed to choke. He’s right there, exposed, in front of his beloved boyfriend. Now Carlos has seen; seen what he really looks like, what he really is. This wasn’t supposed to happen.

Cecil shrunk into himself, tentacles curled and backed him into the corner of the room. He closed all his eyes, awaiting Carlos’ reaction.

An outburst? Disgust? Fear? Dear Huntokar, please not _fear_ -

But then there’s a hand, gentle, on top of one of his tentacles. It squeezed, just a little, and it made Cecil open a few of his eyes. Carlos was right in front of him, beautiful brown eyes wide but void of fear or anything that hurts. Just...opened. Taking in the scene in front of him.

“Cecil. Cecil, it’s okay.”

Now all of his eyes opened, each of them locked unto Carlos. But the man stood his ground. Why isn’t he running away? Cecil is a good feet taller than him, and in his full height, he’d be three feet taller.

“You’re...You’re not running away.”

No. Instead, Carlos smiled, and Cecil nearly cried. Carlos’ smile is so gentle and genuine, soft lips curling sweetly on a perfect-imperfect face.

“Is this what you were afraid of showing me?” he asked, warmly.

“...Yes.”

“Come here.”

Cecil peeled himself from the corner, and Carlos lunged at him. A hug. His dear Carlos was hugging him. In his eldritch abomination form. It took some time, but eventually Cecil returned the hug, with his many _many_ tentacles. All of them wrapped lovingly on Carlos, and Carlos tightened his embrace.

“Don’t be,” he whispered. “Please don’t be afraid. No to me.”

“Carlos...I lied to you.”

He pulled away. A portion of Cecil's tentacles were still draped around him. Two eyes gazed at fifty.

“Do you really think this would make me stop loving you?”

“I didn't want to lose you if it did.”

“Well you won't.” His smile is patient. “Cecil, you’re still the same silly radio host that I fell in love with a lifetime ago, and that was a lifetime filled with all the bizarre and scientifically unexplainable circumstances Night Vale had thrown at us. It takes much more that some tentacles and extra eyes to make me consider the idea of ‘breaking up’.”

Okay. That’s it. Cecil is crying. All fifty of his eyes are. He doesn’t deserve Carlos, he really doesn’t.

“Aaw, Cecil, honey.” Carlos cooed when Cecil started to outright sob, with one of his tentacles brought up to wipe the tears. The scientist snuggled to his boyfriend, giving little kisses along the tentacles. For a while they stayed like that. In the background the weather played.

“Carlos, I...I _love_ you.”

“I know, Cecil. I love you too.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

Some days later, Cecil told Carlos; “You’ve done so many things for me. How will I ever repay you?”

To which Carlos replied with a smile and said; “Cecil, you’ve saved me more times than you can imagine.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

**+1**

Carlos has yet to tell the story of how he ended up in Night Vale, all those years ago.

Years ago, he was just _lost_.

The last place Carlos remembered was the Mojave Desert, somewhere in Southeastern California. The sky was dark and starless, and he drove his car out to the sandy dunes. Any town or civilization was way behind him, and he’s already long passed any roads. It was just him and the headlamp’s light, washing over the lifeless land.

Whispers of a city called Night Vale whisked around the locals of nearby towns. Whispers and rumors and vague directions all led to a mysterious town in the middle of nowhere out in the desert. A town that shouldn’t exist, not by any available scientific calculations.

But he drove.

Late at night, his tires threw dust up as he traversed the desert. But what Carlos never told anyone any one was that he never expected to actually find the city he was looking for. Or find anything, for that matter. He met an owner of a gas station a while back – he was the only person living that far in the desert. His words rang in Carlos’ ears.

“Ya better not went out lookin’ for that place,” he had warned. “Trust me, other folks have searched too, and ain’t no one ever came back.”

Carlos had nodded, yet he climbed to his truck and drove away.

What was he expecting?

Maybe his car would break down at the dead center of the desert. Or he’d lost his way and end up buried under sand. Or he’d spin around the desert for who knows how long. Or he’d get abducted.

He didn’t know what he wanted, he didn’t think he’d find anything. Searching for something he’s nearly sure isn’t real. He just wanted to go. To be lost. Or maybe he was already lost, and he just wanted to be more lost than he already is.

The night sky was dark and empty. The sand dunes were dark and empty. The inside of the car felt dark and empty.

_“No one ever came back.”_

Maybe Carlos had hoped he’d disappear, too.

He’s lost. He’s _so lost._

He felt tears trickle at the edge of his eyes, and he dug his nails to the leather of the steering wheel. Anger, _frustration_ boiled inside him, like a small fire consuming gasoline. He gave a cry and pounded his fist on the car’s dashboard.

The radio buzzed on.

Carlos, with tears streaming down his face, looked at it with confusion. _What…?_

“A friendly desert community where the sun is hot, the moon is beautiful, and mysterious lights pass over head as we all pretend to sleep.”

Carlos reached for the map on the passenger seat. He flicked it open.

Impossible. He’s been driving for hours, he should be in the middle of the desert by now. He’s miles away from the gas station, and the closest radio station is well over three cities away. How is this thing picking up any broadcast?

“Welcome, to Night Vale.”

_Night Vale._

Carlos wiped the tears of his face and turned the volume up. Throwing the map aside, he hit the gas and began driving. He listened to every word of the radio host. Deep. Enchanting. Almost familiar?

“To start things of, I’ve been asked to read this brief notice.”

The broadcast was still rimmed with static, and Carlos used it as a guide kept going. In the distance, a red dot. Blinking.

He’s found it. He’s found somewhere to go – a destination. He isn’t lost anymore.

“The City Council announces the opening of a new dog park at the corner of Earl…”

And into the night he drove.

Carlos never lied when he said Cecil has saved him.

 

 

* * *

 

 

So yes; Cecil is interesting. He has lots of quirks and features and scientifically impossible-ness that Carlos is 99% sure he isn't human (he had established that way in the beginning of their relationship). But at its core, Carlos loves Cecil. Sure, he loves Cecil with all his quirks and features and scientifically impossible-ness. But it goes deeper than that; so _so_ much deeper.

Because when Carlos said the words “you are neat” on their wedding day, he wasn't talking about Cecil's many tentacles or third eye or moving glowing tattoos or deep baritone voice.

He was talking about _Cecil_ , and how he truly loved him, at his core.

Love is neat, and Cecil is neat.

So while he’s sure there are more intrestingly neat things from Cecil – in fact, he’s certain that there will _always_ be new things he would discover, because Night Vale is Cecil’s home and it’s also _his_ home – nothing will ever be more neat than Cecil saying the words “ _I love you_ ”.

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> One quote that I really like came from The University of What It Is (Episode 55). I don't see it being that popular but I think it’s very meaningful. Here;  
>  _“Listeners, I do not know everything about Carlos and he does not tell me everything. That is OK. We are not one person. How lonely that would be! A couple who has made themselves one so completely, that they are once again alone. We are two people, separate. Unique. And joined only where we choose to join. I don’t know what is his affiliation, truly, to the University of What It Is. Perhaps I will never know, but I can know about the taste of food he has made me, or the feeling of his hand in mine, or the absence of his hand not in mine. I can feel the distance between us, and I can know that that distance, viewed properly, is no distance at all.”_  
>  \- Cecil Palmer 
> 
> Weather was “Hide and Seek” by Imogen Heap.


End file.
